


Nightmares

by thenakednymph



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Brotp, F/M, Friendship, Hurt and comfort, Nightmares, after watching her companions die I can only imagine Adaar would have terrible nightmares, emotional hurt and comfort, physical hurt and comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-04-04 16:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4144659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenakednymph/pseuds/thenakednymph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adaar has trouble sleeping. Solas offers her kindness and comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She creeps downstairs long after everyone else has gone to bed. Dawn is still a few hours off and only the guards on their nightly patrol are left and she does her best to avoid them. Not that there are many between the door to her rooms and the oversized chair sitting beside the hearth in the main hall. The spot appear to have been claimed by Varric since their move to Skyhold and no one's complained about it yet. So there he stays.

 It's not a very private spot, sitting next to the door like it is and several times she's seen him scramble to catch runaway papers when a gust comes in, but he refuses to be moved elsewhere. He says the location is ideal for intercepting letters, information, and the latest gossip but Adaar thinks he just gets lonely off by himself.

 Haven and Skyhold aren't exactly Kirkwall and he's used to the constant bustle and noise of city life. She thinks the silence gets to him. The man needs companionship. It's easy to forget just how far from home he is.

 They've all been uprooted and yet no one complains. Everyone seems grateful to be here. The people of the Inquisition are a stubborn and hearty lot, elves, humans, and Qunari alike. She's proud of them.

 Being by the door ensures Varric has a constant flow of fresh air and sunlight as well and Adaar thinks that has more to do with it than Varric lets on. Some of the inner chambers of Skyhold are a little too cave like for her, let alone him.

 Whatever the reason, she takes comfort in the location and heads for the extra chair Varric's had put beside his desk. People were always stopping by to say hi or for idle conversation and Varric's good at that.

Adaar tugs the chair away from its neighbor, drawing it closer to the banked coals. She folds herself into it, though it's not made to support a woman of her substantial size and bulk, but she manages. She winds up curled into a ball, knees pressed tightly to her chest, her hips wedged between the armrests.

 Her bare feet are cold and she tucks the bottom of the bed sheet she's brought down around them, careful to keep one end pulled up over her shoulder, masking the green light as much as possible. The thin fabric can't smother the light entirely, but just covering the mark seems to make it dim somewhat.

Still, it will be impossible to hide by morning. Already she can feel the dry burn along her neck and under her jaw. The skin feels tight and dry and itches. Eventually it will blackening before splitting, cracking open and bleeding green light like the tear in the veil. She doesn't know how much further it will spread, like a blighted infection, before it kills her.

She shivers at the thought, pulling her arms in more tightly. The door to the tower opens and Solas steps out, a cup of tea in hand.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks, like he's been expecting her. She wouldn't be surprised if he was. She shakes her head and Solas waves over the nearest chair, sliding noiselessly across Varric's lush carpet.

 "What's that?" Adaar uses her head to gesture at the cup in his hand, pulling the sheet more tightly around her.

"Tea."

 "You hate tea."

He lifts the cup, offering it to her. "Yes, but you do not." She smiles at the unexpected kindness and takes the cup, savoring the warmth in her fingers. Despite the spells used to heat Skyhold, she's cold, though she suspects it has little to do with the weather and more to do with the anchor.

She blows a thin stream of air across the top of the cup, steam rising over the rim and the sheet slips from her shoulder. Solas' eyes are drawn to the mark and the green light as it flares to life. He's surprised but hides it well.

"I had not realized it had spread so far." He almost manages to sound off-hand but his voice is strained, his mouth pinched with concern.

Adaar sighs and sets the cup down, letting the sheet slip free to bundle around her waist. She's naked except for her breast band and sleeping trousers and the mark throbs from the tips of her finger all the way to her shoulder. Clothing only makes the mark burn and itch and in spite of her chill she'd rather go without.

The light beneath the blackened skin shimmers and dances like the lights in the sky and dimly she's aware that it's beautiful, in a deadly kind of way.

"You weren't supposed to know," she says holding her arm out, the light rippling beneath her skin as if the muscles themselves are made up of the light. Maybe they are.

Solas kneels beside her, taking her arm gently in his hands and examining it.

"Why have you not told anyone?" he asks, rotating her arm. He follows the trail of burned skin all the way up her arm with his eyes, brushing her hair away from her neck where it obscures the progress of the mark.

 Adaar shrugs, tilting her head to the side so her can see the underside of her jaw. "There's nothing they can do about it but worry. The only way to stop it is to seal the breach."

"And if it's killing you?"

Adaar looks down at him. "There's no reason to believe it is." She's certain he can taste the lie but it feels necessary. Like somehow I she doesn't admit it, maybe it's not true.

"But it is weakening you." It isn't a question but she nods anyway. Solas releases her arm and she tucks it back underneath the sheet, her hands in her lap. "It hurts you, doesn't it."

Her face is grim but again Adaar nods. "Sealing the rifts helps, numbs it for awhile, but then it comes back, a dull ache at first, but then it begins to throb and it's starting to give me headaches." She rubs at her eyes as if trying to fight one off now. "I feel like a Templar, trying to shake a lyrium addiction," she mumbles. She scrubs at her face and then drops her hand. "How did you know?"

Solas folds himself into the opposite chair with more grace than she'll ever manage and stares at her. "The signs are there for any who care to see them. You've been distracted lately. There are shadows beneath your eyes and you're not sleeping, I can hear you down here, sitting in front of the fire from time to time."

"It's those damn elvhen ears," she teases, but the attempt at playful banter is halfhearted at best.

The corner of Solas' mouth pulls up into a smile anyway. "Something like that." The smile falters and concern takes it's place. "You've been favoring your other arm lately as well. You keep the one with the anchor tucked against your side the way someone with a broken arm might do, to protect it from being jostled."

"Am I that obvious?" she asks sheepishly.

 Solas shakes his head. "No, I just know how to look."

 "Oh." Adaar's eyes slide half closed and her head tilts to the side, resting against the protective wings of the chair. "I'm so tired," she mumbles.

"Then sleep would be the obvious solution."

Adaar shakes her head and sighs, sitting up again. "I can't. Every time I try lately this damn thing flares up with a crackle and a flash of pain." She holds her arm up for evidence, the light flaring. "It keeps waking me up. I can't seem to get more than a few hours of sleep at a time."

"Are you sure that's all that's keeping you awake?" he asks.

Adaar cradles her hand in her lap, her head dropping until her chin is pressing into her knees. She doesn't have to tell him, part of her is sure he already knows.

She hates talking about it but there's no point in denying it so she sighs and nods to a question he hasn't asked. "I thought the nightmares would have stopped by now," she admits, her voice a shallow murmur. "It's been over a month. But every time I close my eyes I watch them die all over again." She grinds the heel of a hand into her eye, smearing the tears in her lashes.

"Maker, I watched you die." Her voice cracks and she buries her face against her knees, trying to stifle the tears, images flashing behind her eyes. She's embarrassed and exhausted and the tears don't last long.

She wipes away the last of them with the bedsheet, her breathing ragged. "Sorry," she mumbles. "Thinking about it makes me feel crazy. None of you remember and I feel like, if I look away or blink, even for a second, I'm going to lose you all over again and I-" She shuts her mouth, afraid to say more.

Solas reaches out, taking up her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"What are you doing?" she sniffles, blinking at him through watery eyes.

"Come." His voice is gentle and he tugs on her hand, bringing her to her feet. Her joints ache in protest from having been cramped in the chair for so long and it takes her a moment to find her balance.

Solas pulls the cushions from the chair and sets them side by side before the fireplace, close enough they can feel the heat coming from the still warm stone and the glowing coals. They're close enough to the chairs Adaar can lean back against them for support if she needs

"Sit," he urges and she does, wrapping the sheet about herself, more for comfort than anything else. When she's comfortable Solas sits down beside her, taking up her hand again. "You don't have to sleep," he tells her when she meets his eyes. "But you need it. And I'm not going anywhere." He squeezes her hand and Adaar bites her lip, fighting back tears, grateful for his kindness.

 In a few hours she's asleep, Solas sitting quietly by her side, still holding her hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been sitting on this chapter for months debating whether or not to continue with this story. I've finally got this chapter at a point where it seems worthy of sharing but your reactions to it will determine whether or not I expand on this story further or take this chapter down and leave it as a one shot.
> 
> In other news, I realized I wrote this in the wrong POV so if you notice any tense changes or other mistakes please tell me.
> 
> This takes place in the same universe as Hot Springs.

 

Adaar fumbles with the latch to Solas' door, tripping over her feet and half falling into the tower once it opened. She misjudges the distance between the door and the frame and one of her horns clips it as she steps inside. It upsets her balance further and she goes careening into a wall. She hovers beneath the narrow arch, trying to get her bearings as she shuts the door, afraid to go any further.  


“Solas?” The note of panic in her voice makes him look up from the tome he's studying, worry flicking over his face as he sees her. Adaar's nails clip at the stone wall where she's gripping it, her knuckles white. Her breaths are coming in ragged gasps, and she's afraid to let go of the wall for fear she'd fall. Her eyes are wide and she blinks rapidly, on the verge of losing what tenuous grip she has on what must have been tightly controlled panic. Solas hurries towards her, casting a glance at the upper floor trying not to draw too much attention to himself.

Fear touches his heart as his fingers found her arm to offer what support he can, his eyes studying her face. She seems to be having difficulty focusing on him.

In spite of her fear Adaar manages to lower her voice to a cautious whisper, her arm trembling beneath his fingers. “I can't see.”

Solas' heart turns over as he realizes just how far the mark must have spread to be affecting her vision. A cold wave of fear washes over him, leaving him cold and numb and his hand slides down her arm to squeeze her hand. “How bad?” he asks, leading her carefully toward his desk, ever wary of the watchful eyes overhead.

“Bad,” she whispers, her voice trembling. Her breathing is ragged and she tilts her head towards him to take him in with her one good eye. Solas studies her for a moment, his gaze flicking down to the amulet he'd given her. It provided a simple glamour to hide the spreading mark, but he'd never expected the anchor to affect her vision, at least not this quickly.

Guilt and anxiety gnaw at the inside of his ribs like an animal in a trap. He should have prepared for that, should have expected it.  
“We will need more privacy,” he murmurs, eyes on his desk as he carefully rearranges papers and books just to have something to do with his hands. He hopes he doesn't sound as guilty as he feels. “Can you make it to the war room? It should be empty at the moment.”

Adaar takes a couple slow, deep breaths trying to gather herself, to keep it together just a little longer. Tears brim in her eyes and her forehead dapples with sweat.

“I don't have much of a choice do I?” Her voice is grim, but she sets her teeth and straightens her spine. “If you stay on my left side and keep me from running into anything I think so.”

Solas' smile is fleeting and he nods. He's proud of her courage.

“All right.” With a hand against her lower back Solas lead her from the room. She settles into step beside him and Solas is surprised by her trust. She lets him guide her carefully through the collected Orlesians come to gossip and stare, affecting an air of confidence and ease. She kee's her head high, smiling politely and nodding at people she can barely see. Solas makes polite excuses for them and together they work their way through the throng, Solas tucked tightly against her side.

They smiled at Josephine who gives them a bit of an odd look as they pass through her office but smiles in greeting. Solas opens the door to the war room and gestures Adaar through and, true to his word, it lays abandoned. Adaar breathes a sigh of relief. Her shoulders sag and she trembles, sinking into a chair, her shoulders bowing as if beneath a great weight. Solas shuts and bars the door, fear etching his face for the first time.

“At least the amulet appears to be working,” he says and Adaar smiles, though it's strained.

“Yeah,” she breathes, her words heavy and labored. “Thank you...for the amulet I mean.” She gestures loosely. “I wanted to tell them I just, didn't want them to worry.” She bows forward over the chair, her arm cradled in her lap, fear giving way to exhaustion. “I thought we'd have more than two days. That we could figure out a way to stop it before we had to tell them.”

Solas' lips thin. “I'm afraid there's no avoiding it now. Your advisors at least deserve to know what's going on.”

Adaar's shoulders sag A different kind of fear flickers through her eyes as she tries to find him through the darkness blanketing her vision. “I know.”

Solas stands awkwardly for a moment, his hands flexing at his sides. He feels out of his depth, something he hasn't experienced in a long time. He has no idea how to help her.

“Do you...mind if I take a look?” he asks, eyes flicking down to the amulet he knows is hiding beneath her shirt.

Adaar shakes her head . “No, I don't mind.” Solas can see how exhausted she is. She still isn't sleeping well. Unfortunately his amulet can't help with that.

Stepping closer as Adaar sits up, he reaches around her neck, unlacing the amulet and drawing it away. As the glamour falls, green light crackles and flares through the room and Solas' heart sinks. Her skin has blackened up past her shoulder. Half her face, all the way out to her ear is cracking and splitting and her lips are covered with dark web like veins.

The light snaking up her neck is close behind the blackened flesh. She radiates heat and light like an infected wound and Solas' heart gives a heavy thump at the sight. He strokes one finger along the tapered shell of her ear, gauging her sensitivity, and Adaar flinches away.

“Sorry,” he whispers tilting her chin gently. He threads an apology into the touch for hurting her and draws her head back around. He's careful to avoid touching the cracked skin below her lip, trying to gauge how far the infection has spread. And how quickly.

The vein of light beneath her eye that's pierced up through it has turned the pupil a milky white. A pale light flickers in its depths as Solas turns her head. The cornea has turned black and the eye waters terribly, tears collecting on Adaar's lashes. She blinks and a tear slips free, Solas idly brushing it away with his thumb.

“How long has it been affecting your vision?” he asks still studying her eye.

Adaar bites her lip, pulling away. “A day and a half,” she admits and Solas mutters an Elevhen curse, rubbing at his eyes. The mark had barely touched her jaw when he'd seen it last. “It didn't black over until this morning.”

“You can see nothing from this side?” He gestures in front of her eye as he speaks, outside the field of vision of her other eye.

“No.” Her lips tremble and she blinks, trying not to cry and Solas realizes how scared she is. He's still angry she hadn't told him it had gotten worse, but her fear tempers his anger and he squeezes her shoulder.

“And the other?”

Adaar chews on the inside of her cheek. “It's like seeing through a fog. And it's getting worse.”

Solas sighs heavily, the bottom of his stomach dropping out. “Let me get the others. It's time we told them.”

Adaar nods in resignation, tying the amulet back around her neck like a safety net. She sits in awkward silence as Solas leaves, tapping her feet against the floor. Her fingers twist themselves into knots as she waits. It's several minutes before the door opens again and her three advisors walk in followed by Solas.

Adaar stands as they enter, hiding nervous hands behind her back. She clutches at her fingers until they ached to keep them from shaking. Her heart races and she rocks on her feet, her vision threatening to black over. She has to remind herself to breathe.

“Is this about what happened at the Empress' ball?” Cullen asks suspiciously, looking around the room, “because I swear that was an accident.”

A coy smile pulls at Leliana's lips. “My sources tell me otherwise,” she teases and Josephine smiles.

“Come, come,” she says, her words rolling prettily. “I'm sure the Commander didn't mean to accept the ladies' proposals.”

“If I'd known how dangerous a handkerchief could be in Orlais I never would have taken it,” Cullen mumbles. His cheeks are rosy, much to Josephine and Leliana's delight.

Solas clears his throat, drawing their attention. “I'm afraid the situation is a bit more dire than the commander's lack of social graces,” he says. Cullen sputters and Josephine smothers a laugh.

Panicked, Adaar's eyes fly to Solas, looking for some kind of safety, some way out. She isn't ready for this. He nods to reassure her and Adaar takes a shaky breath, her hands fisting behind her back.

“Show them,” he says softly, his eyes warm but grim.

Biting at her lip Adaar reaches up and starts fiddling with the buttons on her coat. Her hands shake so badly she can't loosen them and Solas comes to her aid. He swiftly unwinds her sash and sets it aside. He whispers words of encouragement to her, careful of her left arm as he pulls her coat free.

“If you two would like a little more privacy I'm sure we can leave,” Leliana teases. “Not that I mind.” She scans them both from head to toe, her lips curling. Solas shoots her a look so withering she almost retreats half a step in its wake.

Free of her coat Adaar tries to yank up on the hem of her shirt and gasps in pain, bowing forward over Solas' arm. She grinds her teeth against the pain, her eyes squeezing shut and it takes her a moment to breathe again.

“All right?” Solas whispers almost directly against her ear. Adaar nods, bracing her weight against him to stand.

The mood in the room quickly sobers.

Solas carefully helps Adaar out of the shirt without any more commentary from the advisors, placing his body between them and Adaar. He's trying to offer her at least some semblance of privacy.

Her shirt is damp with sweat and sticks to her skin as Solas slides it from her arms. She's left standing before him in her trousers and breast band. With shaking hands Adaar reaches up and removes the amulet at last.

Josephine gasps as Solas steps away, revealing the extent of the infection.

“Maker's breath,” Cullen whispers, taking a step towards her, one hand extended as if to touch. Solas takes a warning step forward placing himself between Cullen and Adaar with a glare.

Adaar's fingers ghost up his spine and he relents, taking a step back until he's at her side again. Cullen glances between them curiously but says nothing.

“What happened?” he asks instead.

Before anyone can answer there's a knock on the door and everyone freezes. Adaar swallows thickly before grabbing her coat and draping it about her shoulders. It's more to try and hide the mark than any desire for modesty as once again Solas opens the door.

“Varric,” he says, announcing the dwarf's presence to those gathered behind him. "How may we help you?”

“I smell a story Chuckles,” Varric drawles. “First you and her Inquisitorialness are acting all weird, slinking through the hall. And then I see the advisors having a little get together headed in the same direction, one again, led by you.

"Now normally I'd think it's nothing but war talk except _you're_ involved." He jabs a finger at Solas' chest. "And you being the one to answer the door only confirms my suspicions.” He crosses his arms, craning his head back to look up at Solas. “So I want to know what's up.”

“Nothing.” Feeling the dwarf had been sufficiently dismissed Solas tries to shut the door on him.

“Solas,” Adaar calls and he pauses, still standing between her and Varric, blocking his line of sight. Solas tilts his head back towards her, listening, but doesn't move. At any other time Adaar would have found his stillness unnerving. He's cold threat, like a predator waiting to strike. All she needs to do is give the order. In that moment she has no doubt he would kill for her.

“It's all right.”

Slowly Adaar can see him begin to uncoil. The tension in his shoulders loosens and his spine went slack, his weight shifting to one hip. Solas finally moves back, opening the door a little wider and allowing Varric to see into the room. Adaar isn't sure how or why Solas is being so overprotective, just that somewhere between his tower and the war room he'd become her champion. It's odd to say the least, but some part of her appreciates it.

For a moment Varric simply stares at Adaar without reaction as she slides the coat free. It's done little to mask the light from the anchor dancing inside the room, but it was better than nothing. Now that it's gone the light crackles as if irritable, casting harmless arcs through the air.

Varric glances up at Solas. “I'll get Cassandra.”

Before anyone can protest he's gone.

“Do you want me to stop him?” Solas asks, one hand still resting on the door.

Adaar shakes her head. “No, they deserve to know as much as Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine.” She covers her face with a hand. “They all do. This concerns all of them. I'm just-” She's so exhausted she doesn't care who knows anymore. She just wants it over with. “Let's just get this over with.”  
In a few minutes Varric is back, Cassandra dogging his heels and looking none too happy about it.

“Will someone please tell me what is-” she demands, but her words trail off once she's stepped inside. Her eyes find Adaar who's sunk back down in her chair, this time foregoing the coat. “...sweet Maker.”

Tired and in pain Adaar straightens her spine, letting the Nevarran stare. The mark covers half of Adaar's chest and smothers the entire left side of her rib cage. The anchor has nearly engulfed her torso. Light licks its way across her collarbones and up her throat to her face where it's formed a black and green mask over one side.

Adaar has spent more than her fair share staring at it in the mirror over the past few days. She understands the reaction from Cassandra as well as the other advisors even as it made her uncomfortable to be so scrutinized.

She meets each of their gazes boldly in turn from her little chair, too tired and hurt to stand. It doesn't need saying, but Adaar steels herself anyway and goes on so there can be no mistaking it.

“The anchor,” she states, her words firm as she glances at each of them, “it's killing me.”

 


End file.
